Have a Beer Have Two
by Tos-Lover1
Summary: Nick and Greg go on Vacation


This story was written for the CSI Vacation Ficathon at Ragnarokfic written for mondeo.

Summary: Nick and Greg go on vacation together.

Rating: Strong PG-13 for a little and implied smut

Prompt: Rude waiter, lost luggage, incident in a bar

Have a Beer; Have Two

The thing about the Caribbean, thought Greg Sanders, was the beaches. And the heat. Descending the stairs of the 737 at the local airport the humidity hit him straight away. All at once he was sweating through every pore and wishing that like Nick, he'd worn shorts too.

Customs and immigration was almost non-existant, a cursory stamp in their passports and they were free to get their bags.

The baggage hall contained the strangest assortment of people and animals Greg had ever seen. The stereotypical American and European tourists stuck out like sore thumbs with their loud shirts and louder accents, trying not to make eye contact with the locals while silently urging their bags around the carousal. One by one, their fellow passengers pulled their bags off the conveyors and disappeared through the dingy glass doors to the waiting buses, shuttle and taxis. Still stuck in baggage claim, watching the same red bag make its fifth trip round the horn, Greg looked over at his companion pushing him with his own carry-on shoulder bag, "four days. We're here for four days. What did you pack that you needed to check?"

Nick smiled at him, "that's for me to know and you to enjoy."

The conveyor belt stopped moving, "Yeah well, looks like neither one of us is gonna enjoy it. now"

"Shit." Nick stalked off to the little office of lost baggage, returning ten minutes later, a scowl covering his face, "they don't know. I gave him our information; he'll call when they find it."

Greg laughed, "of course they will. Let's go. I need drinks and a pair of shorts."

Their room was everything Greg expected, small bathroom, shower too small for anything but getting wet, bed big enough to take up the entire living space, a few bugs on the wall and a small tv of local channels. He rummaged around in his bag, pulled out a pair of orange and blue Bermuda shorts and stripped, putting on the shorts sans underwear. Nick nodded approval. "Thatta boy. Let's go."

The resort had four bars and three restaurants, mostly themed in tacky 70's disco fashion. Nick grinned at him as they sat at the bar, "now this is more like it. Who can say no to the BeeGees and a beer?"

Nick ordered a couple of Red Stripes and looked around, noticing the women and men alike casting glances his way. It was the hair. Every time he shaved his head he got more propositions than he knew what to do with. They touched bottles and both almost drained them in one go. "Man I hope my bag comes in tonight. I have got some things planned for this trip that," he stopped and looked at Greg, "I had to hit three different stores to get what I needed. And believe me, I had to check it in. There's no way the shit in there would have passed security."

Greg was about to tell him that maybe he wasn't too worried about getting the bag back when a waitress dressed in a bikini stopped next to them. She pointed across the room, "Those two over there want to buy you some drinks."

They looked in the direction the waitress pointed. Sitting in a corner of the bar was a couple Greg recognized from the plane. Their shirts were as colourful as some of his, though the straw hats and cameras were taking the tourist get-up a bit too far.

Nick looked as though it was a struggle to keep his features neutral as he looked from the couple back to the waitress, "are you kidding me?"

Her smile slipped, "hey look, do you want a drink or not?"

Greg's back was to the pair in the corner, so he felt no inclination to keep the look of abject horror from his face.

Nick looked back to the waitress and smiled, "tell them thanks, but we're tired. Long flight."

"Okay, but apparently they really liked the look of your clamps, rings and zips." She gave Nick a good, hard stare, "whatever that means."

"You put your picture on your luggage tags?"

Nick threw his case on the bed, "hell, yes. Exactly because of what happened today, man. They wouldn't have known we were at the same hotel if they only knew my name. There's all kind of bags that look just like this one." He unzipped the case, and opened it, blocking Greg's view of its contents.

Greg walked around the bed, "so just what have you got in there, anyway?"

Nick quickly snapped the bag shut, "uh-uh, soon, Greggo, soon." He held out a small, latex missile to him. "For now, why don't you just be good and go and situate this in the right place."

Could people tell? Greg wasn't sure. He thought he was walking funny, but when he caught his reflection as they were led to their table for dinner, he looked as if he were walking like anyone else who didn't have a foreign object nestled away somewhere. He sat down, the sensation not unpleasant. Across from him Nick appraised him, not saying anything.

"I'm adjusting."

"Good. I'll be turning it on pretty soon."

Their waiter stepped up to the table, his tie slung over his right shoulder, "Drinks gents?"

"Yeah, gimme a beer, Red Stripe'll do." Nick looked towards Greg.

Greg knew what Nick was doing. Normally he'd have ordered two beers for them. Bracing himself, he said, "Me—," his chair noisily scraped backwards as he jumped inches out of his seat. Heart racing, hands immediately clammy he locked his eyes on Nick who was gleaming. His natural tendency was to clench, but that was an impossibility at the moment. Realizing the waiter was staring at him, tapping a foot, he looked back at Nick, begging with his expression for him not to do it again, "Make that two—no, three."

The waiter sighed and left.

"You better take a good, long look at your menu and memorize what you want; as soon as he gets back and wants your order this baby's going on."

For the first time, Greg began to regret agreeing to a vacation with Nick. He started to whine, "c'mon, I didn't sign up for this."

"Oh sure you did, Greg," the waiter was back with the beers and bread. He started to clear the additional two place settings at the table, "No wives tonight, gentlemen,"

Nick laughed, "No. They're, um, getting their hair done."

He wasn't amused, "of course they are."

Nick ordered, taking his time to draw out every word, asking the waiter to explain what Chicken Marsala was. For his part, Greg stared into the depths of his bottle, not sure if he wanted the waiter to look at him or not.

As if in slow motion, he turned to look at Greg, pen poised over his white notepad. Greg stuttered, "I'll have," he stopped, waiting for the sensation to shoot through his body again.

"You'll haaaavve?" The waiter looked around to another table trying to get his attention and the toe tapping started again. "Sir?"

"The Soooooooop," He couldn't look at the waiter. "The sal….ad", hiccupped its way out.

"Dressing?"

"Any."

He left.

"You suck. I mean really, really suck."

"Oh come on, man. You loved it."

Greg tried to get his breathing back under control. He hadn't loved the public spectacle it had caused, but the thing worked its purpose, that was for sure. He was busting out of his pants.

"Turn around is fair play." He kicked off a flip flop and shoved his toes between Nick's legs, taking his time to savour the way he could feel everything moving around and the unfocused look in Nick's eyes. For almost ten minutes Nick forgot about the remote control in his hand, and when their waiter made a speedy return his knees smashed into the table he shot up so quickly.

Two bags of food wrapped for take-out were dropped onto the middle of their table. When they looked up questioningly, he gave them a Hodges-like scowl, "A suggestion, sirs, next time use room service."

"Hey that's a good idea, we wouldn't have to leave the room."

Greg swallowed. It was going to be a long four days.


End file.
